


Good Intentions

by ChEVAl



Series: FMA/Silent Hill Crossover AU [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Silent Hill (Video Game Series)
Genre: Gen, Other, RE: violence its nothing out of the ordinary from what you'd expect from silent hill, and therefore a bit different from what you'd get in FMA, but its very bloody and body horror-y as is the norm for the series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChEVAl/pseuds/ChEVAl
Summary: Roy is in Hell.He never expected it to be this wet; though the loneliness was predictable.(Beta'd by napandasandwich)





	Good Intentions

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Hi this is the second fic I've ever written in my life and one of the only pieces of creative writing I've ever done outside of an rp since I was in my High School english classes a solid seven years ago. 
> 
> Sorry about the strange formatting, I like to have fun with how i place sentences.
> 
> I've been playing around with the idea for a Silent Hill/FMA crossover AU for a little while b/c I am absolutely in love with the idea of designing personal Silent Hills for FMA's cast. They're frankly pretty ripe for it. 
> 
> As for if this is 03 Roy or Mangahood Roy I sort of had both in mind when I wrote it, so interpret him how you wish. Just know that this is very much a Roy who is from the world of FMA, and not some sort of normal-world modern AU Roy that has stumbled into Silent Hill. 
> 
> How he got there is anyone's guess, maybe Truth's just being a bitch again. Who knows?
> 
> Have fun! Let me know if you enjoyed it. I might add more to Roy's personal SH or write some of the other characters personal SH's if I find the motivation and inspiration!
> 
> I find I really love writing melodramatic horror. I hope you like reading melodramatic horror!

Roy Mustang was not one to expect fairness in his life.  
  
It was, after all, an already nebulous concept that had very little root in reality, and what's more it was hardly anything he'd deserve were it a true phenomena. But this did not spare him from feelings of being wronged, being cheated. Being lied to or having a rug pulled out from under him in ways he'd never forget.  
  
The place he was in-this town, this hell, this pit in the bottom of the sea- it was drenched in every way. The ground splashed, the buildings around him were swollen with water and dripped, and the air itself was humid to the point of just barely remaining breathable.  
  
Simply standing out in it was enough to get his clothes soaked, even during the rare times when it was not actively raining.  
There was no wind.  
  
Such was hardly a blessing given how even without it the town was unnaturally cold- soaked wood and puddles on stone should have been frozen solid, but wet they remained despite the subzero chill in the air.  
  
He'd never felt so helpless.  
  
But signs of dryness and warmth had stopped being a comfort within hours of entrapment in this place.  
  
Where it was dry, it was burning. Endlessly burning. Unstoppably, desperately hungry and all consuming. The soft mumbling of licks of flames was entirely replaced with pained whispers and strained screams. Dry places were more danger than the wet could ever manage to be, no matter how miserable.  
  
But the worst patches of dry were the mobile ones; not signified by fire, but by forms.  
  
Tall, short, thin, fat, shambling, stumbling, faceless and featureless and stinking of burnt flesh, teetering about on charred limbs that should have snapped and shattered under the weight of their destroyed bodies.  
  
They were always in the distance-  
  
                                                                                       he _kept_ them that way.

  
Any sign of approach had him scrambling in the opposite, running until his flooded lungs burned like they too had been set aflame, and continuing to run still, until his legs gave out, until his arms would no longer allow him to drag himself, until he simply had no choice but to lie and rest.

  
He realized, on many levels, that he probably deserved this. But he had the distinct feeling he wasn't alone, and those with him probably didn't deserve the same hell fate he'd been handed.

  
Roy was left with a confused sort of survivors guilt, of still being alive in this place while others he wasn't even certain were present could possibly be suffering similarly. As if laying here to die would free these unknowns from their bindings.

  
It was during one of these times, these strange, awful times of forced peace and imminent danger, that the thoughts of fairness and unfairness struck him.  
  
It was staring at  
  
                          -of all things-  
  
                                                   a nearby dog, that made the idea cross his mind.  
  
  
A thin but not starved looking dog, snuffling about in corners and waste, looking for something to chew or play with.  
  
It was larger than Hayate, but nowhere near as large as some of the country breeds he'd seen commonly outside the major cities.  
  
                                                                                                              _His heart **ached** for it._  
  
It - _she_ , he somehow knew- snuffled about, tail wagging lazily, careless and gentle in her motions.  
What fairness was there in putting such an amicable little animal in the same hell hole as him?  
Could a stray dog be as evil as a mass murderer like himself?  
  
The absurdity of the idea made him smile a bit, exhausted as he was, and it was this brief lightening of mood that probably prompted his next moment of action.  
  
Licking his lips -somehow dry despite the weather- he whistled over for the dog.  
  
She lifted her head, still not facing him, and her tail wagged a bit faster. He thought he saw the worn red of a collar around her neck- not a stray, then. Someone out there in this shit pit of a world loved her, he felt, assured. _Certain_.  
  
She barked, excitedly, and his heart swelled up for a moment at the sound, something so normal and natural and familiar- he loved dogs. Such good animals, such good listeners, such good helpers.  
Roy could have wept with joy when she started to turn around, simply glad to see a friendly beast in light of all this horror. The idea of giving her a pat on the head, and maybe having a few moments of company, made all feelings of unfairness melt into thankfulness at such a mercy being granted to him.  
  
She turned to face him, and for the first time in hours -days?- his burned and tired lungs could not stop what happened next, his years of steeled experience could not have settled him, his seemingly unshakable demeanor could not have fled faster.  
  
                                                                                                                       He screamed **.**  
  
She should have been a dog.  
                                     She should have.  
                                                        She should have.  
  
Her eyes were large in a way that indicated they were emerging from their sockets, completely glassy, empty white blank like chimeras he'd seen rotting in cages and ripping through insurgent -civilian- crowds.  
  
She had no lower jaw- the skin, the skin remained, hanging, tattered, bleeding, but there was no bone for it to rest on, to wrap around, to be where it properly should be. Without it her tongue, mottled and rotting from exposure, hung lifelessly. With her every breath, blood gushed forth from her exposed throat, betraying -revealing?- some internal damage.  
  
She wagged her tail harder, overjoyed to see him; her excited breathing made the blood spill faster and more furiously.  
  
The dog began trotting over to him-a brisk lope, then- and something swung about her neck. The previously seen collar was torn at the bottom, faded red a once bright and joyous color, and should have slipped loose from her were it not deeply embedded into her flesh at the top of her neck, black and white fur stained an old, dirty red-brown from blood long festered.  
  
The lope became a gallop, her excitement to reach him ever growing.  
                                                                                             The blood spilled faster.  
  
He shouted at the dog, waved an arm towards her threateningly, shooed her away with all he could still muster. She was dying. She was dying and she was dying faster with every overjoyed gait she made towards him. But her previous obedience was gone entirely, and she bolted towards him still, tail spinning from wagging so hard.  
  
More blood hit the ground beneath her, a long and gorey path revealing her beeline for him.  
  
At no point did he fear an attack- he almost wished that he did.  
For had she been coming to kill him, had she been coming for his throat, his flesh, his blood, as was Just, as was Deserved.  
  
He wouldn't have started to weep when finally, when a heavy, bloody clot of offal hacked its way up from her open throat, she collapsed entirely on the ground not ten feet from him.  
  
  
She lay still.  
  
  
Her eyes, already blank and unfocused, lost any shine they had.  
  
  
Her tail gave one last, heavy, affectionate thump-like a fond greeting from an old dog too tired to stand-  
  
                                                                                                                                                        before she was completely lifeless.  
  
  
He wept, quietly, tears spilling with no sound managing to escape him. She'd come running to him blindly with no care for herself, no hesitance. Her complete and total trust dumped onto this strange, broken man laying a street away from where she had been happily snuffling about.  
  
She'd hate him for this.  
  
She'd hate him.  
  
They _all_ would hate him, because this was what he'd done to them, what he would do to them all in the end.  
  
Their loyalty and love and passion only to be met with exhaustion, collapse and death.  
  
                                 And as he lay there and cried over this horrible, maimed little dog he'd never known -yet had known for years- he knew it was, and would always be, his fault, and fell into the well trodden path of hating himself once more.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like most of the symbolism in environment and monsters in this is fairly obvious but for the dog specifically, yes, as most anyone who reads this would guess, is representative of Riza.
> 
> Except, not really. Well, not Exclusively.  
> The dog is Riza, yes, but she's also the entirety of Team Mustang. She's also the embodiment of (as the title suggests) good intentions gone too far or too sour. She's the embodiment of the damage and danger of mindless obedience. She is the following of orders and beliefs right into her own destruction for what she thinks- or is told- is right. She is the fear that in one's conviction that they are doing the right thing, they miss the fact that they are actually doing evil.
> 
> So I can't just say that she is Riza, because she's not. Riza's just a part of her. 
> 
> And I suppose you COULD read this as Royai, but it was not my intention to be read that way (though I do like the ship), and I'm frankly going to have to think you're a little odd if you choose to read this in that way; I'd go so far as to say I'd prefer you not to. I don't think this could be farther from being shippy than it already is.
> 
> It would be insulting to make the dog *just* Riza, because Riza is far more than a dog. And certainly far more than Mustang's dog.
> 
> The reason she appears as conceptually part of one in this is not because that is what she is, but because Silent Hill reflects the minds and horrors of its victims, and that is what Mustang is afraid he has reduced her to. She's Roy's specter, not Riza's character.
> 
> And she'll be back, if I continue this, or at least more of her will be coming back as is her nature as a monster of Silent Hill.
> 
> And she will be overjoyed to see Roy every time. And she will run to him every time.  
> And she will die, again, and again, and again. Because that is part of what she is, and that is all that she can do. 
> 
> Monsters in SH tend to have fairly ominous names so for now I'll just call her the War Dog.


End file.
